


Bleeding Heart

by nebulas (strawberry_bee)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, its fluffy but you gotta suffer first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 03:06:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8473069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberry_bee/pseuds/nebulas
Summary: McCree knows when he’s smitten. It’s rather embarrassing, actually.





	

He tries to play it cool. McCree doesn’t like wearing his heart on his sleeve, so when he caught sight of the roguishly handsome Hanzo Shimada, he clammed right on up. Well, that only lasts about five minutes before he’s practically pulling at Hanzo’s ponytail, like some schoolboy who doesn’t know when to quit. 

“Hey Hanzo, nice aim you got there,” He calls out to him, when he’s sniped down one of the enemy teams. The archer glances over at him, makes an irritable face before disappearing over the lip of the apartment. A moment later a spray of bullets hits the wall where Hanzo was hunkering behind. 

Well, maybe he shouldn’t be going about and flirting when they’re in the thick of battle. He next tries when they’re in between missions, camping with their team on the edge of a ravine. He’s in the middle of shoving a fifth marshmallow into his mouth when he spots Hanzo settling down away from the fire. 

“Don’ pu’ anymo’ in withou’ me,” He tells tracer, whose beating him by four. He leaps to his feet and heads on over. 

“What is it, fool?” Hanzo asks, who has assumed a meditating position. Belatedly, McCree realizes he’s got a mouthful of a sugary mass in his mouth. After some effort, he swallows that, and sits beside Hanzo. 

“Jus’ wonderin’ why you’re off by your lonesome self,” McCree says, leaning back so he can look up at the stars. It’s a beautiful night, as far as the kind goes. The stars are a billion pinpricks in the sky, and McCree nudges Hanzo. He shifts away from the touch, but he opens one eye to glare at him suspiciously. 

“D’you know how there got to be stars up in the heavens?” McCree asks, looking at hanzo. 

“I’m assuming this isn’t a scientific explanation?” Hanzo asks, closing his eye again. 

“Nah, none of that mumbo jumbo,” McCree says. He bites his lip, recalling the story for a moment before starting. It’s an old story, one from his youth. 

“So it begins somethin’ like this; there’s this new sharpshooter in this real old western town. He’s fallen in love with the sheriff's daughter, ‘cept she’s promised to the bankers son. A real mess, if you take it from me.

“The girl was in love with the moon, y’see, an’ she cried whenever the moon waned. It was ‘cause the dark terrified her so much, since she lost her mother on a night as black as pitch. She believed that as long  as the moon was in the sky, there was no way she would be in harm's way.

“The sharpshooter had no idea how he was gonna solve that issue to win her heart. He thought about shootin’ down the moon itself, or maybe a chunk o’ it, just so she could have it near her at all times. But try as he might, his bullets never coaxed the moon into falling down, and he became the laughingstock of the town.

“One night, while shooting, he missed for the first time in his life. The missed bullet poked a hole in the fabric of the night sky, an’ the first star was born. He had no idea what it was, and out of fear he threw his gun away, swearin’ to never shoot again if it could cause such a lastin’ effect on the world.

“But the girl was enthralled by that glimmerin’ star, and she knew it was because of that sharpshooter. Don’t ask me how she knew, maybe her heart of hearts knew, deep down. She loved it so much that she broke off the engagement, and asked him to put a star in the star for her, just the way he did with the first,

“Well, he put a star in the sky for every time she asked, even when they were old an’ brittle. That’s why we got stars in the sky,” He finishes. Hanzo shows no sign that he had even heard. McCree gives a little sigh, moves to go. 

“Thank you for your story, gunslinger. I do not understand why she left the banker for a sharpshooter, even if he put the stars in the sky for her,” Hanzo says at last. 

“That’s the silly think about love, it doesn't haveta make any sense at all,” McCree says, and heads back over to Tracer. He glances back one last time, but Hanzo hasn’t even moved. He gives a slight shake of his head. Some people were just strange. 

“What were you talking to Hanzo about?” Tracer asks, tossing a marshmallow into the air and catching it over and over. 

“I was tellin’ him a story, not sure why I did, but it seems he needed one,” McCree says, lighting a cigar. 

“You shouldn’t smoke those love, it’s bad for your health,” Tracer scolds, kicking at his boot with her foot. 

“Hmmph, I’ll worry about that if i live long enough first,” McCree responds. She throws the marshmallow at his head, and it pelts him between the eyes. He figures he earned that.

“The world would be a dull place without you Jesse, don’t forget that,” Tracer stands, walks by him to head to her bedroll. McCree closes his eyes, tries to believe her words. But that’s a tall order all in of itself. 

He stays up half the night doing nothing in particular but thinking. He’s a creature of habits, and it had been many years since he’s had a full night’s rest. He does a little bit of reminiscing too, but that's hard when all he’s ever known was the bad he’s done. 

“You should get some sleep, gunslinger,” Hanzo says, startling McCree out of his reverie. 

“Pardon?” McCree asks.

“We have a dangerous mission tomorrow. I need you to be at your best,” He says, stoking the fire. 

“Mm, an awful lot of people tellin’ me how to live my life today,” McCree says.

He thinks he catches a smile on Hanzo’s face, but it’s gone before he can really tell. With a shrug, he shuffles off to his own bedroll. 

 

“Don't get to cocky on me now, Lena,” McCree warns. Tracer only laughs in response. She’s leaping from building to building as usual, leaving a blue arc to herald her passage in the air.

The mission appeared to be yet another dud, with no opposition arriving. Not that McCree minds. A boring mission was always highly preferred to a busy one. Beside him Hanzo kept his bow partially drawn, scanning the buildings. 

“It’s eerie. There should be someone, at the very least,” Hanzo says. 

“Couldn’t put it better myself,” McCree replies. 

“You two worry too much, I can’t see anyone for miles,” Tracer says, dropping on top of the payload. She stands up straight, shields the sun from her eyes with a hand. She makes a show of scanning the area before turning to them, shrugging dramatically. 

It was the last mission before they were allowed to go back on reserve for a few months. McCree was looking forward to catching up on sleep, maybe even hanging out with Hanzo and Tracer again, once he could bear stomach their company. He turns to Hanzo, about to ask him if he’d like to go camping sometime.

Neither of them see the bullet that takes her in the stomach. They hear the gunfire, though, and McCree can see the horror in Hanzo’s face. He turns to see Tracer falling towards them, blood splattering onto them. 

McCree manages to catch her before she quite hits the ground, and Hanzo’s already firing back. 

“You alright?” McCree asks, demands. He doesn’t need her getting faint on him now. He lifts his head up, fires back at the unseen assailant. 

Hanzo shouts something down to him, but McCree can't hear. He’s too busy trying to get Tracer to respond, to kill whomever thought to kill his best friend first. There’s that familiar feeling of foreboding leaking into his veins, and he knows he should be helping Hanzo more. He doesn’t quite snap out of it until Hanzo drops beside him, shoves him in the shoulder. 

“Jesse, I’ll cover for you both. Get out of here,” Hanzo says.    
McCree wants to tell him he’s not leaving anyone behind. That now isn’t the time to be pulling heroics. Instead, he gives Hanzo a sharp nod, gathers Tracer in his arms. He turns and sprints full out, not looking back once. 

He picks a desolate ruin of a store to hole up in. He can still hear gunfire in the distance, figures that Hanzo is holding his own, or just hasn’t been taken out yet. 

“Where’s Hanzo?” Tracer asks, gripping McCree’s arm in a vice-like grip.

“Covering for us, honey,” McCree says. He’s happy to see her conscious. He curses himself for not having any bandages to patch her up. 

“You left him? Are you mental?” Tracer demands. She removes her hand, leaving a handprint of blood caked onto his skin. 

“You’re bleeding out Lena, I’m not leavin’ ya til help arrives,” He says, and means it. She tries to push herself up, before falling back with a gasp of pain. 

“Stay still, this isn’t helping matters,” He says, pulling his serape off his head. He rips a section of the cloth apart, to make a compress. 

“Hanzo’s gonna die if you don’t help him, it’s my own fault!” She yells, trying to rise yet again. 

“Hanzo is stayin’ out there to keep your sorry hide alive, now shut it,” He says, pressing the cloth against her open wounds. Too soon he can feel the cloth being soaked. He’s really beginning to panic. 

“The gunfire’s stopped,” Tracer says weakly. She’s right. McCree lets out a colorful string of curses to that. 

“Watch your mouth, gunslinger. I’ve called backup,” Hanzo says, dropping into the window above them. 

“Never thought I’d be happy to see your sorry face around here,” McCree says. Hanzo studies him for a moment, before turning his attention to Tracer. 

“Help is coming Oxton, I won't let you come to any further harm,” He promises. He makes good on that promise, hardly drawing his attention from the window. It’s all McCree can do to keep Tracer conscious. 

They’re airlifted out of the area, the payload abandoned. McCree almost kisses Mercy right there when she’s the first face he sees. She has him lay Tracer down flat on the seat, and she immediately sets to work on stabilizing her. He’s left sitting across from them, staring at his hands. 

“She will live, Jesse. Don’t think Lena’s leaving us yet,” Hanzo says. McCree wants to believe him. He doesn’t even consider replying. 

In a blur, he’s in the hospital again, and the blood is gone from his clothes, his skin. McCree knows someone must’ve told him to shape up before haunting the waiting room, but he can’t remember who. 

“You there, McCree?” Hanzo asks, startling McCree out of his reverie. 

“Yeah, still here,” he says flatly. 

“Lena. She’s like a sister to you, isn’t she?” Hanzo asks, after a few long minutes of silence.

“Yea, ‘spose so. After Gabe...she’s all i got in the way of family,” McCree replies. They lapse back into silence, and McCree’s about to ask why on earth he’s even there, when Hanzo start’s speaking. 

“There was this...story, that my nanny would tell my brother and I when either of us were sick with fever. Sometimes we would fake being ill just to hear it,” He says.

“Must be some story,” McCree says. 

“After all these years it is my fondest memory of my brother,” Hanzo concedes. He rests his elbows on his knees, his chin on the palm of his hand. 

“It’s centered around two friends, as two appeared to be the magic number to keep Genji and I from fighting. The first was always teasing the second. When they were together, if the second fell behind or lost his way, the first would circle back and goad him into driving forward once more.

“There came a day where the two friends had to part. The first was to go to war, the second to protect their village. Without the guidance of his old friend, the second soon lost his way. He began to fall behind in his duties. He began to drink, and gambled away all the worldly goods that he owned to his name. Before he knew it, he had become a beggar in the streets of their village.

“When his old friend returned to the village, he was saddened to see how his friend had blossomed in their time away. The first had become a war hero, decorated with honor, while he had become a drunkard, the embarrassment of the village. Out of shame, the second had hidden away, cursing himself to a life of penance. But his old friend never forgot him, and took to searching the streets for him. 

“He never found him, for years and years. It wasn’t until the drunkard had fallen gravely ill did the hero finally catch up to him, but there was little else to be done for him. When the hero saw his friend dying, he wept. For he had failed to allow his friend to learn how to prosper without his guidance. The drunkard had asked the war hero to forgive him, for failing him.

“To which the war hero said, ‘I must learn to forgive myself, for I have failed you’, and it is said that the drunkard had died with his friend holding him close. For beyond their shortcomings and achievements, they were still friends through to the end,” Hanzo finishes. 

“That’s not exactly the best kind of story to cheer someone up, I’ll give you that,” McCree says lightly. 

“It wasn’t intended to cheer you up. To almost lose someone is not something that can be smoothed over with a humorous story,” Hanzo replies. 

“Thanks, Shimada. I’ll try to remember that when you’re next in the infirmary,” McCree says. 

“You and Lena will always have each other, don’t forget that. She will be alright,” Hanzo says. McCree grins.

“Does that make me the war hero, then?” He teases. 

“No, fool. A part of loving people is accepting that they may come to harm, despite our best intentions,” Hanzo says. McCree tries to find humor in Hanzo’s response, but all he can feel is the catch in his throat. 

“I can’t lose her too,” He confesses. 

Hanzo reaches out and rests a hand against the back of his, and McCree shifts to hold Hanzo’s hand in his own. He’s glad for the small amount of comfort. They stay like that, until at long last Mercy slips into the waiting room. 

“She’s stabilized, but it was a close call,” Mercy says. She’s exhausted, but she seems relieved. McCree guesses it must’ve been closer than she was letting on, if there’s anything to guess about how drawn her expression is. 

“Will we be able to see her?” McCree asks hopefully. 

“She’s still recovering at the moment...so no,” Mercy tilts her head to the side, studies them both. “If you promise to go get some sleep Jesse, in a few hours I’ll let you in to see her, alright?” 

“You drive a hard bargain, doc,” McCree says, sitting up. He feels sore all over, and he knows he’s going to be aching when he next wakes up. He lets go of Hanzo’s hand as an afterthought, before stretching. 

“Make sure he actually makes it to his bed, Hanzo. I don’t need any sleep deprived cowboys trying to break into my hospital,” Mercy says cheerfully. 

“I’ll try my best,” Hanzo replies. He stands, offers his hand out to McCree to take. He accepts the offer, and pulls himself to his feet. Together they head back to the elevator that will take them to the section of the Overwatch complex that houses their rooms. 

**Author's Note:**

> drop me an ask on tumblr at [starameter](https://starameter.tumblr.com/) c:


End file.
